


Get a Job!

by 18WhyamIdoingthis20



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:28:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27473527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/18WhyamIdoingthis20/pseuds/18WhyamIdoingthis20
Summary: Basically just Thomas and Julian arguing all the time.I have no idea where I am going with this. Apparently I can concentrate better on writing a fanfiction than on reading a few chapters of my required reading. I feel a great deal will be edited with this.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	1. Basically Bickering

**Author's Note:**

> So far I am not shipping these two. The only ship less canon than this one (imo) is me and graduation. They've got great rivalry/banter though. I love them both.

Julian tutted as Thomas danced away to the record – honestly, these work-shy Bohemians really needed to stop laying about and contribute something to society. As a proud member of the Conservative party, Julian Fawcett, MP had done a great deal in his life – had he not lobbied hard against that animal rights bill, or dealt with the Arabian crisis? These people had no respect for the natural order of things. If they lay about all day, who would work and pay taxes – taxes that helped fund his lifestyle. Julian shook his head as he sat down to another game of digital golf.  
“Do you mind, Julian?” Thomas tutted. “I am trying to listen to music here – I don’t need a running commentary on whatever it is you’re doing now. This is an incredibly moving ballad which could easily reflect my own feelings for Alison.”  
“That?” Julian replied, with scorn. “It’s not exactly the best thing they’ve ever done – I preferred ‘Relax’. That was a proper tune.”  
“Well, if you could keep it down, at least, Julian, that would be wonderful.”  
“Oh, shut up.” Julian jeered, but he kept quiet. He and Thomas were constantly butting heads, so it was probably best for him to appease him on this one issue, at least.  
“Thank you, sir, for your consideration.” Thomas replied, stiffly, before returning to his music.

“Do you want to repeat that, sir?” Thomas asked.  
“Yeah,” Julian replied confidently. “You’re a useless layabout who needs to stop writing terrible poetry and get a job.”  
Thomas gasped. “I will not allow myself to be insulted like this in my own home! (“It was mine first” Robin muttered) Apologise at once!”  
“No.”  
“Stop it, guys,” Pat cried out, trying to manoeuvre himself between the two of them. “I don’t see how any of this is relevant to Mary’s talk on the correct way to make a stew.”  
“Well Julian said…”  
“We all heard what Julian said,” Pat interrupted. “And perhaps Julian should have kept his mouth shut, but you were the first one to speak.”  
“I was merely remarking that I had composed a poem which reflected my love for a beautiful poem through the love of a stray rat for a stew.”  
“Not this again,” Julian groaned. “I’ve heard enough about your poems, and quite frankly…”  
“Thank you, Julian,” Pat cut in. “But I think we had better return to Mary’s talk – we can save this for later. Carry on, Mary.”  
“Well, as I was saying,” Mary continued, in her usual grammar. “You leaves it for several days, by which point the vegetables will be all soft and squidgy, not hard and chewy…”  
Julian yawned discretely, catching Thomas’ eye; he may have been imagining it, but he thought he saw Thomas wink.


	2. Volleyhead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They play volleyball. That's basically it. I have no idea where I'm going with this. I'm quite tired.

“Fancy another game of volleyball, Thorne,” Julian suggested one evening. “Humphrey says he wants to play.”  
“It felt wonderful to finally be involved!” Humphrey declared from the table.  
Thomas sighed. “I shall not say nay to a rematch,” he replied, lounging decorously on a chair. “Especially as I am the better player.”  
“I suppose you want me to referee.” Pat huffed, and the three of them (with Humphrey’s head) made their way to the garden for another game of volleyball (or volleyhead).

The game was heated, ending with yet another argument. “The head was definitely in,” Julian argued. “You’re just too slow.”  
“It was practically in the hedge!” Thomas was affronted. “You cannot bear that I am actually skilled in something! Tell him, Humphrey.”  
“I’m staying out of it – just don’t kick me too hard this time, please. I can feel it, you know.”  
“How dare you! I am a highly respected politician and diplomat – I do not need to succeed at a trivial game to make myself feel validated. I merely wish to set the record straight.” Julian couldn’t believe the cheek of the man – arguing with him, when he was the one with the longest tenure in parliament. Yes, the volley may have been a little wide, but he was not about to go down without a fight. “Now, if you’d like to pass me the head, I believe it is my serve.”  
“The head was out,” Pat decreed. “But Julian was right – it is his serve.”  
Thomas sighed and handed Humphrey over to Julian, who was pleased that he had at least been allowed to win on one point. Throwing Humphrey into the air, he served, recommencing the match.

“I told you I was a better player.”  
“Shut up, Thomas. I only let you win because…”  
“Let me win?! Ha! You couldn’t have done worse if you really were trying to lose. You just can’t handle failure.”  
“How dare you! I shall not be defamed in my death!”  
“It’s a little late for that – do you not remember what they published about you in the papers?”  
“That was an unfair representation of my life’s works. The press loves a scandal – it was all blown out of proportion. If I had been alive to handle the repercussions, then my reputation as a respected politician and diplomat would remain intact.”  
“Ha! You forget that I was there – if they knew the whole of what happened that night, you wouldn’t dare mention your own name again.”  
Julian felt a little put out at the implication that Thomas knew something about the events surrounding his death. “How much do you know of the events of that night?”  
“Enough.” Thomas looked at Julian, sensing that he was nervous. “Your secret is safe with me – though most of the others have some knowledge as well.”  
Julian scoffed, but he was secretly grateful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a disaster today. I hope this isn't.


	3. This is my Sighing Place, Damn Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a great deal is happening here, I just missed them and had to write some more. It's basically yet another argument between our protagonists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I projecting my own inner Regency gentleman/poet onto Thomas? Yes. Am I projecting my distaste for certain political campaigns onto Julian? Also yes. Don't judge me.

“Excuse me Julian,” Thomas whined. “You’re in my Sighing Place. I intend to write the most beautiful serenade to express the depth of my love for Alison. How am I meant to do that if you insist on doing whatever it is that you are doing here?”  
“Don’t waste your breath writing namby-pamby poetry,” Julian replied coarsely. “What I am doing here is far more important than that.”  
“It’s far more complicated than that, damn your eyes!”  
“If you say so.” Julian pulled a face to show he was mocking Thomas.  
Thomas sighed in frustration. “You have no respect for my art. Not that I expected such a person as yourself to understand the intricacies of poetry and prose. You care not for art except that which can satisfy your carnal desires.”  
“Yeah, well, it’s all just a waste of space really, isn’t it? Artists should just go and get a proper job rather than wasting time and money coming up with wishy-washy nonsense.”  
“My artistry is not a waste of time!” Thomas was affronted. “I’ll have you know that all of Christendom would have known my name by now, had not my life been unfortunately cut short before I could finish my craft.”  
“Would it? From what I heard, you were never a very good poet. I doubt that you would have achieved great fame if you hadn’t died, given that your surviving poems never received much renown.”  
“What do you know of poetry?” Thomas was incensed by this slander. “Am I to sit here and be insulted by you? This cannot be borne!” He stood up from the window seat where he had been sitting and stormed angrily from the room.  
“Finally, I can sit here in peace.” Julian said to himself, as he sat where Thomas had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't expecting to write another chapter, and I'm going to be honest and say that most of this one wasn't very inspired - I'm hoping that I'll have some more inspiration when more episodes come out.


End file.
